


Homicidal Ideation

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Every bruise, every scar, every excuse had its own little fantasy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever known or had a 'Harley' in real life, trust me, you've fantasized about what you'd do to her 'Joker.'

Sometimes she'd think about doing it with the plants.

She could practically hear his bones snapping, his choked off scream, as thick vines looped around his scrawny limbs, crushed his ribcage until the pieces of his skeleton perforated his lungs and filled them with blood. Maybe she'd only constrict his abdomen, rupture his internal organs. Laugh in his ugly face at the thought of the slow, painful death he faced with burst spleen, intestines, stomach.

Then she'd catch a glimpse of the cigarette burn scars on Harley's back, and a flash of white hot rage would burn that one away. She'd never have the patience for it. If Harley wanted to dig into his psyche she could when a vine wrapped around his skull and cracked it like an egg, gray matter oozing out like the yolk and dripping on the ground. That would shut up his laughter.

Sometimes she'd see new bruises--all the colors of the rainbow--from the deep purple of new and exciting injury to the faded yellow of Harley's advanced healing. She'd given her that, and she could always tell when Harley was purposefully trying to hide a particularly egregious one, because Harley only had to hide it for a day, maybe two, where any other human would be showing it off for a week or more. There was a time she wore a choker that didn't match anything else, and she knew what was under it, but she couldn't bring herself to snatch it off and expose it. She knew it was finger marks in blue and purple.

She'd think about paying him back. Wrapping her slender hands around his scrawny neck, channeling the strength of a Great Sequoia, and squeezing. Look in his beady little eyes as he gasped his last, beating futilely at her arms, no more laughter, just the dread and the fear of dying so ignominiously. No glorious final battle with Batman, no legacy, no cult following. Just the sad little boy in clown makeup choked to death by an irate and vengeful Goddess.

Harley avoided her when she had visible evidence. Split lips, black eyes. Sometimes she thought about taking Barbara Ann up on her offer to rip him to bits. Take him out in the country, give him a headstart, and laugh as the Avatar of the Hunt ran him down and shredded him. No amount of trick lapel flowers or razor blades could stop her.

Harley would sometimes forget to not talk about him and say something offhand. "Oh, ya'd think bein' with Mistah J I'd be used to a little pain." Then she'd flinch and rapidly change the subject. He was a bully.   
She hated bullies. Sometimes she thought about taking him to Arkham, kicking him in Waylon's pit. Waylon had been bullied his whole life for being different, at least until he'd grown into Croc and no one could bully him, and he hated Joker--could smell the weakness and cowardice coming off the pathetic little man like the odor off of rotting meat. Croc would snap his bones and eat his flesh and enjoy every second of it. She liked to think about the screams coming up from the darkness.

The hardest times were when she'd wake up to Harley whimpering or crying in her sleep. Even begging. "No, puddin', I'm sorry. Please no more." She'd heard that once. She'd shook Harley awake and just held her, trying not to cry herself. Harley, with little memory of the nightmare, had enjoyed the uncharacteristic cuddling. The next day, she'd locked herself in her lab and cooked up a virus keyed to his genetic code (he left his blood all over Gotham, it hadn't been hard to acquire it) that would slowly eat away at his flesh until he literally fell apart. It helped her to focus on the science--do what she was best at.

Today, she was making Harley an omelette and she saw the long scars on Harley's legs. He'd slit her with a razor blade at some point. They were faded, and Ivy had been treating them for weeks. The physical scars would be gone soon. She knew that. Harley was chattering about a game on her phone, her big blue eyes twinkling with excitement, when she spontaneously crossed the kitchen and kissed her. Harley was surprised and kissed back, and when she broke it, Harley said, "Not that I'm complainin', but what was that for?"

"I want you to know I love you." Her voice was steady, she was proud of that.

"Aww, I love ya too, Red."

She wanted to kill him, but she couldn't. It would rob Harley of the closure she'd need when she eventually got there. That's what she told herself, when she was deep into her plans for him.

But that was a lie.

She knew that if he died at her hands, Harley would never speak to her again. She was strong, but she wasn't strong enough yet to let Harley go. And when she was alone, she'd bitterly hate herself for her weakness, because she knew she was a hypocrite. She had a hand in every scar he gave Harley, because she could stop it anytime.

"Red, are ya ok? Ya look like you're about ta cry..."

She smiled at Harley, reassuringly. "Yeah, I'm ok. Mickey Mouse pancakes?" Harley clapped and cheered and she went back to start mixing the batter, all the while glancing at the scars on Harley's legs.

Someday soon.


End file.
